A Sold Soul
by Dreamville
Summary: Desperate to save his family, Diabolus sells his soul to Lucifer in exchange for their protection. Resigned to an eternity of torture, Diabolus is instead sent into a new world with orders to find the key to a dimensional gateway blocking Lucifer's entry. The problem? That key was divided into seven demonic parts and he'd been reborn as a baby named Sasuke Uchiha. Dark!Sasuke Fic


It's a curious quirk of fate, that among the cacophony of noise in that rocky battlefield, it was the almost inaudible hissing sound of a scimitar slicing through the air that warned me of impending death. I forcefully twisted my body and wrenched my shield into position, barely deflecting the scimitar as it glanced off haphazardly. The Persian soldier, foolishly believing that he had caught me off guard, had overextended. A costly mistake. With a furious growl, I stabbed viciously at the Persian's armpit, my gladius snaking around his scimitar, easily penetrating his leather armor. The stream of cursing and crying erupting from his lips was savagely cut off as my blade pierced his body again, this time in the throat.

Wrenching my gladius out of his throat, I stood up and took in the grim sight. A wild melee of blood and steel raged on, the metallic ringing of steel rang through the battlefield in reminiscence of a funeral bell. All around me, Persian warriors in mottled brown and gray armor surrounded my comrades who were bravely fighting a hopeless battle. They'd known their fate from the moment they were chosen by King Leonidas to slow the Persian advance at the Pass of Thermopylae. That knowledge had done nothing to dim their spirits, grim bravado and boasts still persevered among the ranks.

Closing my eyes, I could almost remember the jests that they had made to each other, men jokingly claiming that we still had the numbers because a single Spartan man was worth 1,000 Persians. I had not had the heart to correct them because even if what they had said was true, the Persians still outnumbered us. We were helplessly, completely, laughably outnumbered and they knew it as well. Now, I had to watch as people I had known my whole life, spent nearly every waking moment with from early childhood, were cut down to die like marionettes without their strings.

Ignoring the slick blood on the hilt, I gripped my gladius and shield tightly and gazed into the distance. Narrowing my eyes, I could barely discern the grand pavilion which held Xerxes, the Persian King. A harsh smile rose to my face as I resolutely stepped forward into the murderous fray of blades. _Diabolus_ _, slayer of Xerxes the King of Kings. That sounds perfect. Got a nice ring to it._

With a bloodcurdling roar, I plunged headlong into the battle with a suicidal charge, my eyes fixated on my goal. Adrenaline pumping through my veins, I hunched beneath my iridescent bronze-plated shield and took off into an outright sprint. A Persian footsoldier leaped forward, his saber carving a crescent through the sky as he launched a vicious overhand blow that never met its target. His leap was cut brutally short as my shield slammed into his face with crushing force.

I didn't break my stride and continued weaving through the battlefield toward the grand pavilion that held Xerxes. As I fought through the pulsing masses of soldiers, I constantly chanted to myself an old focusing mantra that my father had taught me as a child. _It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. (Invictus)_

I could feel myself slipping into that zone that all soldiers experienced while on the battlefield. A sense of separation fostered from constant brushes with death. A hypersensitivity so intense that it made the world surreal in its reality. The world narrowed and contorted itself to the thrust and parry of my sword and the enemies. To the maneuvering of bodies as they desperately fight in an intertwined dance of death where the primal parts of man rise out of the murky depths of the consciousness.

A particularly powerful blow from one of my opponents wrenched my gladius from my hand with a painful jerk. Wasting no time, I bull rushed him and grabbed his wrist, jerking it away as his blade barely skimmed past my face. Keeping a firm grip on his hand, I kicked his leg sending him sprawling into the ground. His quiver made his landing unwieldy and knocked the breath out of him. That was all the time I needed. A quick and powerful knee to his throat crushed his windpipe, left him wheezing and unable to breathe.

I tried to grab my knife from my belt but a howl filled with bloodlust alerted me to danger. I dived to the side and felt a sword skim past me. Desperate, I tried to roll to my feet but I moved slowly. Much too slowly. The Persian warrior lunged forward, his sword striking with a sudden ferocity. I twisted desperately, and the curved scimitar streaked by me, deeply cutting into my side and caused me to collapse to the ground. With a quick prayer to Tyche, the goddess of luck, I threw my dagger at the charging Persian and watched as it glided through the air and stab into the Persian soldier's thigh. He didn't even slow down as he continued running at me as if the wound was a minor inconvenience.

Stopping in front of me abruptly, he slowly raised his sword, his grimy face twisting into an ugly smile as he looked down upon my powerless form. As his sword began to descend, a crystal clarity descended upon me as well. I realized that I didn't want to die. I had a family, a beautiful wife and a daughter to go home to. But that wasn't why I didn't want to die, it was because I was afraid to.

Coldness enveloped me as the world faded in color, everything shaping into a featureless gray with the details magnified to a sharp focus. I watched his face the entire time. I watched his cruel eyes, his cheeks blushed red from the thrill of battle, his lips as they shifted from a smile to one of shock as a spearhead sprouted from his chest. A gurgle of blood came from his mouth as he slumped to the ground, dead before he hit the ground.

I looked up to see Lycaeus, a childhood friend of mine towering above the corpse. Lycaeus was a giant of a man, with a huge shaggy beard covering most of his face. He grinned at me and bellowed with a deep throaty voice, "Your time of dying is not now, Diabolus. You have a family at home and they're waiting for you. May Ares shine his blessing upon you today, old friend." He suddenly turned toward a furious battle which had begun raging to our left. His eyes tightened and he unsheathed a long curved iron sword from his belt and he lumbered toward it as he let loose a ferocious roar.

Slowly, I clambered up, every bone in my body protesting the movement. Stumbling, I made my way to the soldier with bow and arrows. I found him dead, with an arrow through his eye. _That's ironic._ Wasting no time, I grabbed his bow and quiver and forged ahead, leaving a blood-soaked trail behind me. The killing, the blood, the persistent throbbing of my wounds, the feverish haze in my vision, and the screams of men enveloped me but I stumbled and pushed my way through it.

Slowly, but surely, I cut my way through the war zone toward the pavilion containing the one who had caused the deaths of all my friends. Once in range, I strung my bow and grasped an arrow from the quiver. Breathing heavily, I forced myself to be patient and waited for the best opportunity. _Breath in. Breath out. Remember the mantra. Use it to focus and guide your thoughts and actions._

My eyesight focused until my entire being was fixated onto the narrow strip of land connecting me to the pavilion where Xerxes sat on his gilded throne. _Dammit, I can't get a shot. He's completely covered by the guard's shields._ Suddenly, Xerxes leaned forward to speak to the captain of his guard, and for a second, he was exposed from the bristling shield of men surrounding him. _Now!_ I released the arrow with a snapping twang and watched as it arced toward Xerxes and descended like a lightning bolt from Zeus.

The arrow took him in the shoulder, and Xerxes jerked back in surprise and pain. _Dammit, I missed his neck._ A shout of consternation arose from the guard as they immediately drew around him in a formation reminiscent of a tortoise's scaled shell. The captain looked around, desperately trying to identify the arrow's origin. Grabbing my gladius, I stumbled forward, determined to cause Xerxes to meet his death before I met mine. This was my last chance, if I didn't kill him now then they would escort him out of the battlefield for treatment and they would never risk him dying again.

A scream of mingled fear and fury tore from my throat as I leaped over a blood-drenched corpse and threw my gladius with a harsh snap of the wrist. The gladius slowly flew through the air in a revolving spiral, steadily flying toward Xerxes as a forlorn hope enveloped me that it would actually reach its target. Instead, it was smashed out of the air by the dark haired Captain's shield who immediately zeroed onto my position.

 _Holy shit. Did he actually just hit my sword out of the air! I didn't know people could actually do that._ Suddenly, something slammed into my stomach and I fell to the floor in shock. The world twisted and blurred around me as I felt something dripping from my side. A ringing sound enveloped me as my surroundings suddenly slowed substantially. Glancing down, I saw an arrow embedded in my stomach.

 _Dammit, why did it have to be in the stomach? Anywhere else would have been fine. I would have been alive or just injured. Now I'm gonna be dead and it's going to be a while before I get there._ The ringing subsided, and I realized that someone had been screaming all the while. With a start, I realized that that someone was me. A century seemed to pass before I was jerked back into reality when a sharp kick in my ribs caused me to gasp in pain and look around confusedly.

Focusing my eyes on the figure above me, I realized it was Ephialtes of Trachis. He was a person that I had known as a boy while undergoing Agogue, the rigorous and brutal training regimen that every Spartan boy underwent to become a soldier and a man. I vaguely knew him as a student from a rival school during my childhood as well as from his reputation as a cunning and ruthless warrior.

Ephialtes was a tall, wiry man with a long crooked nose and beady black eyes. His long rangy hair was tied in knots with the rotting ears of dead enemies woven within them. He wore a fine silk doublet with strips of lace on the sleeves along with velvet britches with the design of thorny branches embroidered on them. He bent down on his knees and grinned at me with a crooked smile as he bit into an apple spitted on his dagger.

"Salutations, fellow comrade! Ephialtes was meandering through this dreadful battlefield when he witnessed a brave Spartan soldier fall to an arrow sent by a villainous Persian archer. The brave Ephialtes rushed through the deadly melee to come to the man's defense in his time of urgent need. Thus he came in urgent haste only to see the man sleeping like an innocent babe. The man must understand that Ephialtes was a bit put out by that development.

Now, Ephialtes recognizes the brave comrade who has fallen in injury. It is Diabolus of the Broken Spear." I grabbed at Ephialtes arm and pulled him toward me in desperation. Words escaped my cracked and parched throat as I gazed at him with fevered fervor. "Help me, I need to staunch the bleeding," I croaked blearily. His face twisted in disgust as he gripped my hands with a viselike grip and wrenched them away from him. "It's so sad. Ephialtes is truly grieved that such a brave warrior falls on the battlefield, leaving a young and beautiful wife behind in sorrow. Ephialtes promises Diabolus that he will take care of the lamenting widow and her child."

Ephialtes was cut off from his monolog as the dark haired Persian Captain strode up from behind him with his sword unsheathed. "Ephialtes! Behind you!", I cried. He slowly rose and turned to see the Persian who strode up to meet him. The Persian stopped abruptly and bowed steeply to Ephialtes. He glanced at me, his icy blue eyes holding a cold neutrality, and then focused onto Ephialtes. "Sir, he drawled in heavily accented Greek. The God King Xerxes has ordered for you to return to his Royal Pavilion".

Ephialtes grimaced, glanced at me, and tossed away the half eaten apple. "It seems that Ephialtes has been summoned for a meeting. Unfortunately, this conversation amongst old friends must be cut short". My mind suddenly regained its equilibrium and I felt a sudden coldness that pervaded my body as I finally registered what I was witnessing. A feeling of rage filled me as I gazed upon Ephialtes who suddenly seemed less than human.

"You, ... you abomination. You betrayed your comrades who you broke bread with your entire life. Who stood steady by your side with the shield while all else around you degenerated into havoc. They would have given up everything for you, and you repaid them with deceit, treachery, and death. You are the filthy traitor who showed the Persians the hidden goat path of Laxus which allowed them to flank us. And for what? You gave up a life of being a free man for a life of serving as a mangy dog for Xerxes." Ephialtes flinched at these words, before leaning forward to answer. Before he could speak, I cut him off. "No, you won't even be a dog". I smiled tauntingly. "At least a dog is loyal."

His face had turned red with fury as he unsheathed his sword and lifted it high over his head with the point angled downward. I closed my eyes, ready to die and go to Hades. Instead, I felt an armored boot slam into my wound and my entire body twisted in tortured pain. A scream tore loose from my throat as knifelike stabs of pain rushed through my entire body. I opened my eyes to see Ephialtes crouching next to me, his sword back in his sheath and all traces of his rage gone from his face.

A savage grin appeared on his face as he leaned forward and whispered softly into my ear, his coal black eyes glittering with malice. "I'll enjoy taking your wife. She'll be entertaining for the first few times. After that, well who knows what will happen to her. And as to your daughter, well, I hear the Persian soldiers like them young." My rage erupted and convalesced into a burning and desperate hatred. Every fiber of my being loathed him and ached to tear his heart from his chest in order to stop him but my body would not respond.

He rose and sauntered toward to the Persian Captain and departed without looking back. Nothing was left in my mind except an overwhelming hatred and a desire for to kill Ephialtes before he could get to my family. This couldn't be the end. The Gods couldn't allow for someone like Ephialtes to live while I would die. Fury consumed my mind as I pictured his face and mentally tore it to pieces.

My body gave a shudder and I coughed out copious amounts of blood but I paid it no attention as my vision faded to blackness. _I'll do anything. Please, Gods, I will do anything to stop him. I can't, I won't allow him to hurt my family._ I could feel myself fading and tried to keep myself awake but I was failing. Not knowing who I was pleading to, I made one last supplication _. . . . . Please._

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 **Hey guys, Dreamville here! This is my very first fanfic and I would greatly appreciate if you left a review. You guys don't know how much I appreciate it and how much it keeps me going! It doesn't have to be more than a sentence, though in depth commentary is definitely appreciated.**

 **As always,**

 **Sweet dreams.**


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